


the woods are lovely, dark, and deep

by SnorkleShit



Series: Jazekiel Winter Festival [3]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Drabble, Ezekiel Jones Remembers, Jazekiel Winter Festival, M/M, Mentions of suicide/death, Poetry, Robert Frost, Snowball Fight, nods to point of salvation, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8913484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnorkleShit/pseuds/SnorkleShit
Summary: Jake and Ezekiel take a moment to enjoy the woods on a cold winter morning.





	

There were only a few things in life that Jacob Stone would call _perfect_. The sound of a well tuned guitar. The Fibonacci spiral. The smell of the Library. 

But this early morning in the depths of the Rocky Mountains was definitely going on the list. The snow was pristine, rolling over the earth in a blanket of shimmering white. The trees and all the rocks seemed to be tinged blue, frosted over and sparkling in the morning light. Snow graced the tops of even the tiniest twig, and Jake stood in the frigid air, drinking in the winter wonderland. Icicles from ridges and branches, refracting and gleaming light across the clearings between the dark bark of the trees. Jake’s chest swelled as he breathed in slow lungfuls of cold air, at peace for a rare moment. 

That was, until a chuckle from behind him rang out, and Jake’s shoulders sagged. 

“Ezekiel, I swear-”

Just as he turned around to chide the thief, a snowball came to greet his nostrils. He stumbled back, sputtering, spitting out snow. The first thing Jake saw when he opened his eyes was Ezekiel’s face, split apart in a gleeful grin, four more snowballs ready in his hands. He had the energy of a child. Lucky for Jake, he had plenty of energy himself. 

“That’s it, Jones! You’re gonna regret that!” He exclaimed, charging forward. Ezekiel tried to dodge behind a tree while throwing snowballs, but Jake didn’t even bother with snowballs. He caught up to Ezekiel and tackled him, grabbing the back of his head as the went to their knees, planting Ezekiel’s face directly into a back of fresh snow. Ezekiel snorted, falling onto his back, coughing as he wiped his hair out of his eyes.

“I guess I earned that, whatever the hell it was.” Ezekiel huffed, collapsing into the snow. Jake fell back next to him.

“In the USA we like to call that whitewashing.” Jake clarified. Ezekiel frowned over at him.

“I thought that was something the media does.” He asked. Jake laughed.

“Granted. Same term, two meanings.” Jake replied. 

They laid their on their backs for a little while, drinking in the silence. 

“You know what this reminds me of?” Jake asked, sitting up and crossing his arms over his knees as he looked out over the scene before them. 

“Something dumb, no doubt.” Ezekiel replied, his eyes closed as he relaxed into the cold. 

“Stopping by The Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Jake carried on, eyes somewhat wistful as they watched flurries get whipped up by the wind. 

“But it’s morning…” Ezekiel muttered, confused, still not bothering to move or open his eyes. Jake rolled his eyes.

“It’s a _poem_ , you idiot. By Robert Frost.” Jake replied. Ezekiel’s eyes opened, any mirth or mischief gone. He slowly sat up and copied Jake’s posture, glancing over at the older man. 

“I’ve heard you mention that name before.” Ezekiel said, as casually as he dared. Memories of blood and exhaustion and glitches beckoned his mind towards the looming darkness, but he kept those feelings in check. 

Jake smiled softly as he recalled one of his favorite poets. “There’s a reason he’s so timeless. Some people’s words just ring through time.” 

Ezekiel pursed his lips, pulling his jacket around himself tighter. The cold didn’t seem so fun anymore, as white noise in his head grew louder. He fought it back, reaching to run a hand over his face. He needed to keep his composure.

It had to be then that Jake decided to finally look over at him. The art historian’s face screwed up in alarm and worry when he managed to catch a glimpse of actual _emotion_ on Ezekiel’s face.

“Are you alright?” Jake asked. Ezekiel turned his head away from Jake completely in a slight panic, to hide whatever his features might betray. 

“I’m fine!” He replied, too quickly. Jake glanced around, unsure of what to do.

“You’re _always_ fine. It’s okay to not be fine, one and a while.” Jake tried to suggest sincerely, scared to lose his grip on his first chance to get Ezekiel to actually be open about himself. 

Ezekiel shook his head, scoffing. 

“I was _not fine_ for long enough, thank you very much.” Ezekiel replied. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jake asked. Ezekiel just shrugged, lifting his head to stare back out over the snow, his expression now perfectly indifferent. Jake rolled his eyes and looked away, sullen at the loss of his chance to get some depth out of the thief. Another moment of silence passed, as Jake mulled over his feelings for the man next to him.

“You know,” Jake finally broke the silence. “The poem is about a guy who takes a moment to think about going into the dark woods, before he keeps on his path. It’s the darkest evening of the year, and he’s all alone in the harsh winter. He’s tempted by the woods, but he turns his back on them and keeps going.” 

Ezekiel snorted. “That’s just stupid. What’s so tempting about the woods? Their cold and dark and wet, and you have shitty reception.” 

“It’s a poem, Jones, it’s not supposed to be taken literally. Most people interpret it to be about suicide. The woods are supposed to represent death, giving up, letting go. But no matter how much he wants to let go and give into the dark, he turns his back on it and keeps going. _The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have miles to go before I sleep._ You see what I mean?” Jake explained. Ezekiel turned his head away again.

“So? What’s so special about that?” Ezekiel asked scathingly, with more venom than he meant. But Jake didn’t take it personally, he could tell who the acid was really directed at. 

Jake shrugged, reaching to run his hands through the snow. 

“Some people think it’s more brave to live than it is to die.” 

“Those people are stupid.”

“Whatever, Jones.”


End file.
